


Is it gonna be you and me together?

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Canon divergent after 2x12, F/M, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I just want to do something to make people happy, you know? I mean, my dad would love it if I became a cop like him, but I already spend most of my time keeping people safe. That’s not a career path for me, that’s a lifetime commitment.”</p><p>Or: the tiny Bakery Sort-of-AU where Jackson and Stiles are bros.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is it gonna be you and me together?

**Author's Note:**

> This fic happened because of a few things.
> 
> 1) I keep reading bakery AUs, and I love to bake. It's kind of a passion of mine, especially since I can't use traditional ingredients like eggs and wheat flour (My list of food allergies is long and detailed, but we're not getting into that bit of fun right now.). I can definitely see Stiles needing to offset the craziness that goes on in the pack with something simple and soothing like baking.
> 
> 2) I've had the opening to this fic written - the parts about Stiles and Jackson becoming best friends - for months now, and never known where to go from there until this afternoon, when the next paragraph wrote itself in my mind as I was putting batter into the little tin I bake mini-bagels in.
> 
> 3) I adore '80s music - rock and pop - and it tends to find its way into my fics every once in a while (See the _Totally '80s_ AU I wrote for BBC's _Merlin_ for the more details.). Paula Abdul's _Straight Up_ has been one of my favorite songs since I was a little girl, along with Madonna's _Into the Groove_.
> 
> Please forgive me for this.

It was inevitable, really, after Stiles spent two days in their senior year in a cave keeping Jackson’s soul tethered to this world by entwining it with his own (And _oh_ , had Deaton sent disapproving vibes Stiles’s way after that, but what else was Stiles supposed to do? _Not_ use his magic to save a pack member’s life? He doesn’t think so. Besides, this wasn't sophomore year anymore; Jackson wasn't going around killing the townsfolk. Well. Okay. Not unless they tried to kill a member of the pack first. But still.), that they would become friends. Those forty-eight hours taught them more about each other than they knew about themselves, because it might be possible to lie to yourself in your own mind, but it is entirely impossible to lie to another person when he can hear your every half-formed thought.

When faced with the fact that the two of them were not nearly so different as they always thought, and in fact had quite a lot in common, hating each other just stopped making sense. For the first weeks following their rescue and returning Jackson’s soul to his own body once his body had sufficiently healed, the rest of the pack had watched to two of them with confusion and cautious optimism. After growing up watching the two of them go back and forth, it was incredibly jarring to watch Stiles and Jackson actually _getting along_.

Then came the fear. If the two of them banded together, they could do some serious damage, because all that ruthlessness and cunning in one place was just bad news for anyone within a five-mile radius.

Luckily for them, Stiles and Jackson tended to use their skills for the benefit of the pack, unless they felt like having a little fun - largely at Scott’s expense - every now and then.

They graduated, with Derek looking on proudly from his place in the auditorium, and started the next chapter of their lives at UCLA, the school everyone in the pack, including Lydia, had compromised on so that they could stick together. Derek bought a large house ten minutes from campus, and they all spent as much of their free time in their home-away-from-home as possible, largely eschewing the pull of college life: they still had plenty of excitement without throwing partying into the mix.

It was one night in their junior year of college, after dealing with a nest of harpies that had been haranguing innocent members of the student body, that Stiles confessed to Jackson, “I just want to do something to make people happy, you know? I mean, my dad would love it if I became a cop like him, but I already spend most of my time keeping people safe. That’s not a career path for me, that’s a lifetime commitment.”

Jackson’s arm tightened around Stiles’s waist, preventing him from slipping off of their favorite spot on the pack house’s roof. Perhaps coming down from adrenaline didn’t mix well with alcohol, but at least he was there to keep Stiles safe, even if it was from himself. “John and Martha,” because he didn’t have to pretend to see them as something they weren’t to him, not around Stiles, “want me to become a lawyer, but I just can’t get into it.”

“Sucks, dude,” Stiles said succinctly. If confronted with the possibility later, he would deny, deny, deny ever having nuzzled into Jackson’s shoulder. “We’re adults, right? Who cares what they want? It’s not like doing something else is gonna hurt anybody.” He laughed then, the sound more bitter and broken than Jackson ever wanted to hear it. “We did enough of that in high school, doncha think?”

“Well, then what would you do? If you didn’t care?”

A thoughtful noise made its way past his lips, and Stiles admitted, “I think I’d like to bake.”

The next day, Jackson went to see his advisor and changed his major to business management. Stiles continued taking the courses for his criminal justice degree, but when they earned their bachelor’s degrees, the two of them headed home. Erica, Boyd, and Scott came home with them, while the others remained in school to earn their master’s. They spent the first few days after arriving trying to strengthen and replace their scents in the renovated Hale house, and then they got down to work.

Within a few months, Luna’s Bakery (So named for the irony, as well as in tribute to Stiles’s mother.) was a hot spot in Beacon Hills. Students would come in before and after school for cupcakes and kolaches, while the working-class denizens would visit for muffins or some of Stiles’s homemade granola.

Boyd joined Jackson and Stiles in the bakery, his calm, even demeanor a welcome foil for the high energy Stiles exuded, and an easy reminder for Jackson to keep his cool in the face of the occasional difficult customer. Scott went back to work for Dr. Deaton, with the understanding that he would one day take over the practice, and Erica started her own hair-styling business out of the little one-story house her father signed over to her after Mrs. Reyes died of a heart attack in their senior year at UCLA.

The years came and went, and at last, the rest of the pack - save Lydia, who went on to MIT to earn her doctorate - came home. Isaac started his internship at the hospital, Danny went to teach BCIS at their old high school, and Allison joined him, teaching photography and media journalism. Derek remained at loose ends, trying to stay available to the pack.

Scott and Allison got married at the tiny Catholic church where Melissa had taken her son to Sunday School until his freshman year of high school, when Scott told her he was pretty sure he was agnostic. Their union received the tacit approval of Chris Argent, who had given his baby girl away with about the same amount of resignation of any other bride’s father.

No one had the heart to tell Chris or Melissa that the two love-birds had actually been married since the night after Scott’s eighteenth birthday, when Stiles and Lydia had kidnapped them and taken them to the courthouse, where the rest of the pack was already waiting for them.

Boyd and Erica were next, with a lovely ceremony at the Baptist church Boyd’s grandmother still attended.

At Isaac’s request, Derek got a license to officiate. He and Danny tied the knot by the light of the full moon. All of the werewolves shifted, and the whole pack howled when the newly-married couple sealed it with a kiss.

With all of the couples in the pack making things official, Jackson supposed he could have felt lonely. But he still had Stiles, who was terminally single, and he and Lydia maintained an adventurous love-life with the help of their bond and the use of webcams. It was a good thing Lydia had an apartment to herself a little ways away from the MIT campus. Jackson bore the teasing from the rest of the pack by throwing their own embarrassing moments back in their faces.

After a while, the happy couples got a clue and started keeping their mouths shut.

Things would have stayed that way, except that Jackson had been noticing something strange between Stiles and the alpha. That old tension the two had around each other back when most of the pack was in high school was back, only it had changed into something else, something that had nothing to do with fear and mistrust.

He went home on his lunch break one afternoon and went to find Derek. It wasn’t exactly hard. The bond he shared with his alpha, as well as the music with the heavy bass and the hard tempo, quickly drew Jackson to the room they had dedicated to exercise, and he found his quarry doing chin-ups. Sitting down on the floor, he opened the brown paper bag Danny had shoved his way with one hand while the other clutched a fresh cup of coffee that morning, and took out the green apple he knew would be there. They were, after all, still his favorite.

The first sharp crunch caused Derek’s head to snap around, and he stilled, waiting for Jackson to say whatever was on his mind. Jackson, for all his progress, was still quite comfortable in his role as the pack asshole, and so he took his time, waiting until his bite of apple was absolute mush to swallow. “So,” he said finally, “are you going to tell Stiles you want him, or do I have to do it for you?”

Derek, who had become so much better at communicating with his pack, and society in general, still could not stop the growl that tore its way out of his throat. He had thought, had hoped, that everyone understood well enough to leave his feelings for Stiles alone. Because Stiles may not have been as young as he once was - had in fact managed to surpass the age Derek was when he had followed his missing sister back to Beacon Hills all those years ago - but Derek still could not fight the belief that Stiles would be cheated out of something better if he actually settled for his alpha.

“Neither of us is going to tell Stiles anything, because there’s nothing to tell.” They stared at each other in the wake of the tell-tale flutter of Derek’s pulse.

“Sure. Whatever you say, Derek. But if I have to listen to Stiles singing _Straight Up_ one more time, I’ll forget every word that just came out of your mouth. No one should have to listen to Stiles singing Paula Abdul out of tune, okay?”

The alpha grimaced his understanding, although Jackson had a feeling it was more to avoid grinning at the abject mortification his beta was currently radiating. Seriously. He loved Stiles - he could admit that in the privacy of his own head - but there were limits.

Sighing, Derek relented. “I’ll think about it.” He eyed Jackson skeptically after that and asked, “Was that all?”

“Yep,” Jackson confirmed, popping his lips on the ‘p’ simply because he could. He rose from the floor then, saluting Derek with the hand still holding his apple before taking another bite and strolling from the exercise room.

One way or another, his good deed for the month was done.

Boyd took one whiff of him when Jackson walked back into the bakery and raised his eyebrows at the lingering scent of Derek. Jackson shrugged at him and went to wash his hands and grab his apron from the back. Stiles looked up from the cake he was icing and sent him a grin. “You ready to get back to serving sugary goodness to the masses?”

Snorting, Jackson moved closer to Stiles, rubbing chocolate icing off the tip of his friend’s nose. “What have we said about you wearing the merchandise?”

“I still maintain that it’s free advertising. No one appreciates the methods to my madness.”

“Aww, poor Stiles. You’re so misunderstood.”

Stiles sniffed dramatically and turned back to his task. “You don’t even know how I suffer, Jacks.”

“Mhmm,” Jackson said, taking in the easy lines of his friend’s shoulders, the happy humming underneath his breath. “You’re clearly in agony. I’m crying for you on the inside, really.”

“You know I fe-el for you. I think I-” a careful hand slotted itself over still-moving lips, preventing Stiles from finishing the line.

“First Paula Abdul, now Chaka Kahn? We need to bring you into the twenty-first century, Stilinski.”

Stiles squirmed enough that Jackson allowed his hand to slip away and resumed piping icing. “And yet you know exactly who those artists are. Seems a little suspect to me, buddy. A little of the pot calling the kettle black.”

“Whatever,” Jackson dismissed lightly. “Like you said earlier, I have masses to ply with baked goods, and you’re about to smudge that icing.”

He started making his way back out to the front, smirking at the irritated squawk of, “Lies!” that followed him. That was enough of a victory to get him through the next several hours of badly butchered ‘80s and ‘90s songs drifting from the kitchen and out to his sensitive ears. Still, Derek really would have to man up sooner, rather than later.

Surely the singing would stop once the pining did. After all, it started right around the time the other half of the pack came back to town.

Three days later, Jackson arrived at the bakery at 5:45, a quarter of an hour before he would need to open the front door for customers. He cocked his head at the sound of heavy breathing emanating from the back, stilling and raising his eyebrows as he took in the two rapid heartbeats where normally there was only one, especially at this time in the morning. Briefly, he debated with himself. Should he head back there and remind Stiles that they needed to be ready to open? The first batch of kolaches was already waiting in the display, and it _was_ a Saturday. They should be fine for a little while, right?

At the soft cry of _”Derek!”_ Jackson nodded to himself firmly, deciding that he could live without his apron for at least another thirty minutes, as well.

With no one around, he allowed a small, pleased smile to grace his lips.

He may never have imagined the choices he made back in high school would lead to this, but because of taking the bite, he had Lydia and he had a pack and he was happy.

 _They_ were happy.

As he picked up one of the Pigs in a Blanket Stiles always set out for him, or for Boyd, depending upon who’s turn it was to open, Jackson knew that it was enough.


End file.
